


You Can Wake Up Now, The Universe Has Ended

by moon_crater, SynthApostate



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Awkward Boners, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fight Sex, Impaired Consent, Light Bondage, Light Femdom, butch is probably a virgin, butch shouldn't drink this much, drunk dubcon makeouts, is there such a thing as leather jacket kink? if not there is now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_crater/pseuds/moon_crater, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynthApostate/pseuds/SynthApostate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When everything in a vault is always the same, it's no surprise that she'd be intrigued by something new.  When everything in the wasteland is trying to kill her, it's no surprise that she'd be comforted by something familiar.  When the Tunnel Snakes ride again...Tunnel Snakes rule?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Wake Up Now, The Universe Has Ended

**Author's Note:**

> Squick warning: Butch drinks the way I did when I first moved out on my own and had unrestricted access to alcohol, with what should be predictable results. (Drink responsibly. Your stomach will thank you.)
> 
> Trigger warning: Bullying (with sexual overtones), making out while heavily intoxicated
> 
> Don't ask me how or why this happened. ~~Fallout 3 is the one Fallout game I haven't played. My computer won't run it. My gal sure knows how to make me like the same boys she does.~~ Extra special thanks to Moon for letting me play Fallout on her computer while she rewrote a good third of this. I don't think I made too many mistakes with the source material except for sticking a bathroom where it doesn't belong, but I'll let them keep it. These kids deserve a place to freshen up.
> 
> This one goes out to every boy in a leather jacket I had a crush on in high school, which is a surprising amount considering I'm at least 85% gay.
> 
> -S.A.

She was fifteen when it happened. One day, Butch and the others were just a bunch of jerks. The next, they went exploring in the sealed-off section of the vault, and came back with _stuff_.

They were both alone when they met for the first time, _after_. It was always a little better when they were alone. Not that he wasn't still a jerk, but if he didn't have to show off for Wally and Paul, if she didn't have to make herself a bigger target to get their eyes off Amata, at least things wouldn't escalate to a real fight.

They had a system by then, after a decade and a half of jostling against each other for elbow room. He'd call her a nerd. She'd hug her schoolbooks to her chest so he couldn't knock them out of her hands. He'd crowd her against the wall. She'd kick, they'd shove each other around a little, then he'd laugh at her and walk away.

This time...he was wearing something over his vault suit. Something she'd never seen before, something that turned his stride into a swagger. And his hair--it curled. No, it _swirled_ , up and over, defying gravity.

For the first time in her life, she was seeing something new. All she could do was stare, until his shoulder slammed hers and her books scattered across the floor.

"Butch!"

" _Bu-utch_ ," he whined, pulling a crybaby face. "What's the matter, twerp?"

"What's the matter with _you_?" she shot back. "Did you get your hair stuck in a door?"

He went red in the face and self-consciously smoothed both hands over the top of his head. They came away greasy, she noticed. What the heck had he put in there?

"I ain't in the mood for your smart mouth, kid."

She rolled her eyes.

" _Leave_ , then." And they were the same age, anyway. She didn't know why he had to act so superior all the time.

"Maybe I don't wanna leave. Who's gonna make me, huh? You?" He nudged her with his shoulder again, and she stumbled into the wall.  He smirked at her clumsiness and loomed over her, trapping her where she'd fallen.

"Get off." She pushed him away, or tried to. He didn't seem so big, just looking at him, but he had shot up four inches that year, and there was a kind of strength in him that hadn't been there when they were kids. She pushed at him again. He just leaned into her more, showing off just how ineffective she was, and laughed.

"Can't keep your hands off me, huh? Wally was right, this thing is a chick magnet."

"What _is_ it?" The material felt strange under her palms, firm but oddly supple, almost like a living thing. And it had a deep, earthy smell, rich and complex like her father's favorite books.

"It's a leather jacket, dummy. I thought you knew about old stuff like this."

She was touching a dead cow! She yanked her hands back, and immediately wished she hadn't. Without her propping him up, he fell against her, smashing her against the wall.  The length of his body filled every empty space the meager curves of hers had to offer, squashing her flat. He'd filled out; never was it more apparent to her that she still hadn't. And he felt much too warm against her, a solid wall of overwhelming heat that threatened to make her faint, or maybe that was an illusion because of the cold steel at her back. Her face flushed.

"Butch--" She tipped her head back so his stupid jacket wouldn't smother her, and ended up with her lips pressed against his throat, her nose stuck in the hollow of his jaw. He felt prickly--he needed a shave. "Butch, please..."

He laughed a little as her breath tickled his neck, and pressed his hands against the wall on either side of her, taking his weight off but keeping her trapped. She almost gasped with relief. Without the heat of him trying to melt her, the weight of him trying to crush her, she felt like she could breathe.

"Jeez, what's wrong with you?"

Whatever it was, the same thing was wrong with him. She knew, with him pressed up against her so close, even though she wanted to pretend it wasn't there. Even though he tried to obscure _that_ by taking his weight off her. Her father was a doctor. She knew all about...involuntary physiological reactions. Teengage hormones. He was...and _she_ was...

It was all just proximity. Two human bodies bumping up against each other in certain ways sent chemicals firing in certain directions. Biology. All perfectly natural, and perfectly mortifying.

"Get away," she said breathlessly. When he didn't move, she grabbed him by the collar and shoved. He rocked back a little, then swayed in closer.

"You're shaking," he said, in surprise rather than triumph. "Are you scared of me?"

"I'm not..." He must be able to feel how hard her heart was pounding. Her palms were sweating all over his jacket. She swallowed hard. So did he; she watched the bobbing of his Adam's apple with undue fascination.

"Hey..."

She looked up at him. He was staring, she realized, at her mouth. Was he going to...?

"Butch?" she whispered.

He pushed himself back from her, so suddenly she stumbled along with him for a second until his jacket slipped out of her grasp.

"You ain't even worth my time, pipsqueak."

He turned his back on her, slouching, hands stuffed in the pockets of his dead cow jacket, and she--snapped.

She had put up with him for fifteen years. Teasing her. Pushing her around. Stealing her lunch. Scaring her friend. But he had _never_ made her feel like _this_.

She picked up her computer science book and threw it at him.

She thought it would sail past him, or bounce harmlessly off his shoulder. Instead, the corner clipped him in the back of the head. He staggered forward a couple of steps, then collapsed onto his hands and knees.

"Ah--ow--what?--" He pressed a hand to the back of his head, and came away with blood on his fingers.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" she babbled. She dropped to her knees beside him, trying to check his pupils for signs of a concussion.

"Back off!" His elbow smashed into her nose.

She fell back, tears springing to her eyes as blood dripped down her face. He looked back at her and winced.

"Aw, jeez--I didn't mean to--"

She punched him in the mouth.

"Thanks, jerk! At least now I don't have to smell you!"

She left him there, with all her books and her notes from class. He didn't come after her.

They managed to avoid each other for weeks after that. Even when he came by the clinic--because there were plenty of people, not just her, lining up to punch him in his smart mouth--it was never during the hours when she was there helping out.

Her sixteenth birthday came, and for once she got a chance to eat old Mrs. Palmer's yearly sweet roll in peace. She considered spitting on it and leaving it outside Butch's room, but in the end she went and shared it with Amata instead.

*

She was nineteen when she had to leave the only home she'd ever known. She fled into the Outside, with its unending sky and its erratic weather systems and its warped acoustics and its dozens upon dozens of unique forms of life, each and every one of which was trying to kill her. She went out into this nightmare world armed only with a pistol she could barely shoot, a few years' worth of medical training--and Butch's leather jacket. Because, apparently, she was the best friend he'd ever had, man.

She spent her first night away from home huddled in a ruined house, shivering, hungry, terrified of every noise. She was exhausted, but too afraid to fall asleep. She had never felt so alone.

A cold white _thing_ appeared in the sky. Later, she would be comforted to learn that it was only a natural satellite locked in synchronous rotation with the planet at a distance of roughly 240,000 miles--the "moon" she'd read so much about--but, seeing it for the first time, in her present state of mind and with no reference materials on hand, she imagined it was a monstrous eye staring down at her--a _vulture_ eye, dull blue, with a hideous film over it that chilled the marrow in her bones.

Overwhelmed and overwrought, she wrapped the leather jacket around her shoulders and wedged herself into a corner. She dozed off breathing in the last familiar scent she would ever know. And somehow, she was still alive in the morning.

*

She was nearly twenty when she ran into Butch in Rivet City. He called her his best gal, and bought her a drink. She had to laugh.

She knew how people must see them. A couple of punk kids in vault suits and matching leather jackets. Old friends. A gang. Tunnel Snakes. Ha.

He'd found a new jacket to replace the old, half-outgrown one he'd given her. She couldn't help noticing how he filled it out. Definitely not a little kid anymore.

The months Outside had changed her, too, she knew.

She hadn't worn her Tunnel Snake outfit that morning with any expectation of seeing him again. She just liked to wear it sometimes, to remember that she used to be a kid called Nosebleed who knew everything about sprained ankles and nothing about plasma guns. A goody two-shoes who would delay running for her life to help a boy who always hurt her save a woman she had never liked. A sheltered virgin who didn't drink.

She slammed her empty shot glass down on the bar while Butch was still working on his, which was obviously not what he'd expected to happen when he'd offered to buy her a drink.

Since she'd been Outside longer and had more caps to spend, she bought him two. And then some snacks, when she realized he had been going at it since before she got there. The idea that food would soak up the alcohol already in his system was just a myth, but at least it would give him something to do besides more drinking.

As it turned out, this place had homemade sweet rolls on the menu. They both almost fell out of their chairs laughing.

"We could spit it," Butch said, giggling. "I mean, spit. Spit!" He laid his head down on the bar. "Spuh-lit."

"We'll take two," she said. He blinked in surprise at the two plates that appeared, thump-thump, between them.

"You're the brains, Poindexter."

"Yeah, I know. Sit up."

He did, grinning, and stuffed half the sweet roll into his mouth. She snorted with laughter.

"Wha?"

"That's how I used to eat them," she said. "Pack it away quick before somebody else could take it."

"Oh." He swallowed. "I, uh...I was a real asshole. But I really...really love sweet rolls."

"Well, you can enjoy them now." She didn't add, _because your lush mom's not here to trade away your rations and send you to bed hungry_. His friendly ease wouldn't survive a crack about his mother, even if she was just trying to tell him that she finally understood. "I've stolen a lot of stuff since I came up here," she confessed. "Maybe not from little girls at their own birthday parties, but--I wouldn't have survived this long Outside if I hadn't learned to take things from people who don't need them."

He stared at her for a moment with deep drunken thoughtfulness. He opened his mouth and took a breath to say something very important. Then he popped the rest of the sweet roll in.

She laughed again. He grinned at her with his mouth still full of food.

"Hey--come on, that's gross."

He chewed, swallowed, and gave her a cleaner smile. She nodded her approval.

"Are you gonna eat that?" he asked.

She pushed her sweet roll toward him. Happily, he sank his teeth into it. She wasn't really hungry. In fact, she was getting anxious just sitting there. She had so many things to do, and never enough time in the day to do it all.

"Hey, Butch, are you going to be able to make it home okay?"

"Huh?"  He tried to look her in the eye, and almost slid out of his chair.

"It's getting late, and you're--pretty wasted. You should go sleep it off."

"Nah, I'm all right." He drooped against the bar. "Tunnel Snakes rule!"

"No, Butch, I'm serious. Doctor's orders."

He sat up, wobbling a little, and glared at her.

"You don't-- _You_ don't tell _me_ what to do. I'm the boss of the Tunnel Snakes. Tunnel Snakes--"

"Rule?"

He blinked.

"Uh, yeah."

"Yeah? Is that why I found you here, drinking alone?"

"I'm makin' contacts! You can't let just anybody into a gang like this. You gotta get the best of the best." She ignored his defensive rationalizations in favor of the thing she knew would be a gut-punch.

"Do you know who drinks alone, Butch?"

"You're gonna want to shut your face!"

"Losers." She stood to give him a better target. "And drunks."

He took a swing at her. Could have done some damage--he was bigger and stronger than he'd been even a year ago. But she was halfway sober, and she had learned a thing or two during all those months of dodging super mutant fists.

She ducked under his arm, grabbed him around the waist, and used his momentum to spin him around until he was pointed at the door. Then she marched him forward.

"Hey--what are you doing?"

"Taking you home."

His feet started to drag.

"I'm not going back in that cage!"

"Not the _vault_ , you idiot. Where are you staying in town?"

"Stayin' right here," he insisted.

"Ugh. Fine, don't tell me." But she wasn't going to leave him to pass out in the bar. "Come on, let's go to my room."

He wobbled.

"Are you coming on to me?"

"If it gets you moving? Sure."

He wobbled again.

"Huh. Yeah, okay. Why not?" He leaned against her, grinning like a dope. "If you want it, all you gotta do is say so."

"Men are dogs," she muttered, and dragged him out the door.

They would have made it back to her rented room without incident, if he didn't feel the need to stop and tell every random stranger they met, "Tunnel Snakes rule!"

Most of them laughed, or just ignored him, but one guy, a mercenary type who she'd guess was in a much tougher gang than theirs, ignored Butch and leered at her in a way that made her skin crawl.

"Tunnel snake, huh? How 'bout you ditch this punk-ass, and I'll show you a real tunnel snake."

"You'd better keep your hands to yourself," she snapped. She wouldn't be able to fight him off too well from her current position, half-carrying Butch, but she could still do what she had to.

The guy grabbed her by the arm, the arm that wasn't wrapped around Butch's waist, and yanked her toward him.

"Look, bitch--"

Butch straightened up and shoved the guy away from her.

"Hey! You, you're gonna apologize to my friend. She's a _nice girl_ , and you...treat her with--respect--oh, jeez."

She swung him around into the corner as he started to gag.

"You're going to want to get out of the splash zone," she told the stranger. She helped Butch drop to his knees, deliberately positioning herself to show off the pistol under her jacket and the knife strapped to her thigh. The merc took the warning and left, probably scared off more by the threat of vomit than of her.

Butch dry-heaved a couple of times, but nothing more than that. When she was sure he was going to keep his sweet rolls down, she got him back on his feet and pointed him toward the hotel.

"Did he say sorry?" he asked.

"Yeah," she lied. "You sure showed him."

"I...think I drank too much."

"I know you did." They were so close. Just a few more steps, and she could drop him. "Do you really think I'm a nice girl?" she asked.

"'Course. You're always helpin' people and shit. And you're a doctor."

"That's the old me. It's not so easy to be good up here."

"Pfft. You'll always be Little Goody Two-Shoes."

"Have you ever killed anyone, Butch?" He liked to talk tough, but she suspected the answer was no. Outside the vault, he'd have run from the fights she'd walked right into. Only, he wouldn't have called it running. "I have. It's what I do now. I've taken more lives than I've saved."

He tried to turn and look at her. They overbalanced and fell against the wall.

"Self-defense don't count," he said.

She snorted.

"Why not? Killing is killing. That guy back there, if he didn't leave me alone, I was ready to stick my knife between his ribs and gut him like a fish. How _nice_ is that?"

He frowned thoughtfully.

"What's a fish?"

"I don't know." He started to slip sideways. "Something you cut open with a knife." She grabbed him by his jacket and hauled him upright. "It was supposed to sound tough, and..."

He kissed her. It was soft, almost tentative for the split second when their mouths first met, but he was barely upright under his own power, and gravity took over until all she knew was crushing, urgent pressure. Butch clamped his hands to the sides of her face and pulled her in tight, and their noses mashed together before he tipped his head right. He kissed the way he punched, with every ounce of effort he had behind it. It shouldn't have surprised her that he did.

"Huhm?!" she gasped into his mouth, her lips opening with surprise under the onslaught. She tasted more whiskey than human being, with a layer of beer underneath. Intoxication made him too clumsy to display much technique, but he dragged her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged. Her stomach flipped over when he nipped her lip and her fingers around his jacket went lax. As soon as she let go, he tilted sideways and rolled until his back was against the wall. For a moment she rolled with him, but when he hit the steel he released her and she staggered. They broke contact.

She stared at him. He stared back, flushed and panting. Then he looked away.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"Why?" When he tried to turn his back, she slammed her hands against the wall on either side of him, so he couldn't move without knocking her down. "Hey! _Why_?"

"I'm an asshole," he mumbled.

"So?  Maybe I could like an asshole."  But not the kind of asshole who would leave this half done.

"You don't like assholes. You like nice men." She had to lean closer to hear him. The way his head was turned, she could almost smell the blood pulsing through the vein an inch from her nose. Or maybe that was just the Aqua Velva. She reached up and turned his face toward hers.

"You could be a nice man."

He still wouldn't look at her.

"I'm not a nice man, I'm a--"

She kissed him, stunning him as much as he'd stunned her, and she heard a little squeak of surprise at the back of his throat. Her chest collided with his as she pressed him up against the wall, pinning him there, and captured his mouth in a kiss that she intended to make him dizzy. She kissed the way she fought, too: where Butch had been devouring her with desperation and sheer force, her kiss was all tightly harnessed control, calculating in demands that he eagerly yielded to. She touched the very tip of her tongue to the seam of his lips, and he opened to the tease with a sharp intake of breath. She pulled away to look at him and grinned when he swayed from the loss of her mouth on his, eyes unfocused, lips still pouted.

"I never said I liked assholes," she told him. "I said asshole.  Singular."

She slipped her fingers around the back of his neck, spearing them in his hair, and tilted his head down so she wouldn't have to strain to reach him. He didn't resist, though his brows jumped a little when she pulled him close enough to press her mouth to his again. The affirmative sound he made wasn't anywhere close to being a complete word, but the intent behind it was clear. Clearer still when his hand dropped to her hip and dragged her into the sheltering warmth of his body, one of his thighs sliding between hers to provide a hint of friction where she wanted it most.

His other hand found her waist and gripped her tight against him for a moment before moving with some hesitation under her jacket, up over her ribcage, then higher to cup her breast. In contrast to the way he'd kissed her, his hand was feather-light over the vault suit. She could barely feel it through the damn fabric. She groaned, partly with pleasure but mostly with impatience, and increased the pressure on his neck until she must have left bruises, hoping he'd get the idea that he didn't have to be gentle. Though he moaned into her mouth in answer and the hand on her hip slid down over the cleft of her ass to drag her up against the evidence of his arousal, he didn't take the hint.

Frustrated, she nipped his lip with her teeth and put her hand over his, encouraging his fingers to get rough with her, to let his thumb to slip back and forth over her nipple through her suit and make it harden. He took to it better than she thought he would, giving her a squeeze that made her yank her head away and whimper, which he answered by dropping love bites all along the side of her throat. Somehow, he shifted them until _she_ was the one with her back to the wall, pressed his thigh against her more firmly, and he did something with the fingers at her breast that made her cry out.  
  
Someone whistled at her.

"My turn next, baby! Hundred caps sound about right?"

Butch's head snapped up.

"You take it back! She's worth way more than that!"

"No, I'm not. Hush." She took his hand and hauled him the rest of the way to the hotel, and didn't let him stop again. A hundred caps was actually a lot of money to offer someone not even affiliated with a brothel, but it was still kind of nice that he wanted to stand up for her.

By the time they got to her room, she was furiously blushing, and feeling very much like the nerd from the vault. And _he_ could barely stand up. She tried to make him sit on the bed. He fell back, pulling her down on top of him.

"Butch!"

He smiled up at her unsteadily.  Both his hands found her hips.

"I like the way you say that when you're ticked off."

"Oh, yeah?" She laced her fingers through his as they wandered toward her ass, pinning his hands to the mattress on either side of his head, and shifted her knees forward until she was straddling his chest. "You like when I say your name? Or do you like it when you make me mad?"

"Both?" His breath wavered, and she caught the dark heat in his eyes even as he twisted in her grip. If he'd put his mind to it, he could have gotten loose, but his brain was evidently preoccupied with other things. "How come we never did this before?"  
  
"You called me a pipsqueak, _Butch_. You were mean to me." She leaned forward, pressing his hands down into the bed. He stilled beneath her fingers, though his breathing remained erratic, and licked his lips. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Uh--I--ah--" He laughed nervously, but she saw how his eyes darted to her mouth. "I ain't exactly against it."

Leaning in close enough for her breath to ghost over his lips, she whispered, "Do you want me to let you up?"

"Didn't say that," he murmured, straining his neck to try and catch her mouth.  When he couldn't reach, he let himself fall back, hard enough to rattle his brain.

"Butch?" His eyes fell shut, and he tilted his head back with the obvious expectation of being kissed. She squeezed his hands. "Don't go anywhere."

"No problemo..."

She let go of him and moved to get up, but he sat up and hooked her around the waist before she could get too far. He reeled her in just long enough to grip a fistful of her hair and kiss her soundly. It was hot and raw and artless, but enough to make her breathing ragged, and then it was over. He fell back on the mattress with a stupid grin.

"Jerk," she said, almost giggling.

She got off him and went to her bag, where she had a pack of Brotherhood-issue condoms. She doubted Butch had ever used one; they were banned in the vault, and wastelanders tended to rely on luck rather than their homemade boiled dog intestines. But she wasn't about to expose herself to the dangers of unprotected sex on top of everything _else_ that was trying to ruin her life.

While she was up, she took off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. she put her Pip-Boy on the table, where it would be out of the way.  And, feeling a little self-conscious, and more than a little overheated, she unzipped her vault suit. She'd let him do the rest.

"Okay, Butch--" He was asleep. "Butch?" He didn't move. She grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. "Butch!"

"Huh, what? Wha'd I do?" He almost focused on her for a second. Then his head rolled to the side. She shook him again. He was out.

Okay. _Fine_.  She...she didn't want to get physical with him, anyway. This was all just a momentary lapse in...in logic. She zipped her suit up so fast she caught a bit of her throat in the teeth.  She had only ever meant for him to sleep off his bad decisions where someone with a little medical know-how could make sure he wasn't in any danger from alcohol poisoning. She never should have let herself get caught up in his enthusiasm. It _wouldn't_ happen again.

His temperature was normal, and he was breathing just fine. Still no vomiting. She put a garbage can next to him for when that inevitably changed.  Slammed it down harder than she needed to, but it didn't wake him.

"Enjoy the bed, jerk."

In answer, he started to snore.

Whatever. She sat in the chair with her copy of _Nikola Tesla And You_ , trying to work out what was dragging down her accuracy with her new plasma rifle, and definitely not thinking about his stupid perfect mouth in its too-cool-for-you sneer, going all sweet for her when she demanded it, or his tongue thrusting into her mouth like it owned the place, or his fist in her hair, dragging her down like--like he _wanted_ her.  No!  She didn't have time for this, she was busy. She meant to be back out by the next afternoon, and she had no idea what to expect.

She peeked at Butch over the top of her book every once in a while, when he shifted position or made little sounds of distress.

She had never liked Butch. But she had sometimes wanted to. And he was something familiar in a world where nothing else was. It wasn't that surprising that she should feel off-balance and a little fluttery, seeing him again.  She would get over it.

He started throwing up, finally. Gross. She went and held his shoulders to make sure he stayed pointed in the right direction, since he was only half-awake at best.

"Ugh--why--"

"No, don't try to talk."

"Why did I drink?"

"Because you're a stupid, stupid man." She wrapped her arm around his chest and, with her other hand, brushed his hair back from his face. He clung to her sleeve and retched. "I've got you. It's okay. Just let it out."

"Don't--let go--"

"I won't." He couldn't stay upright on his own. The mess would be terrible.

She was pretty sure he was getting rid of everything he had _ever_ put in his stomach. She'd have to get some water and vitamins back into him as soon as she could. If only she still had access to her father's clinic. There were meds in there she'd always taken for granted, that she'd never seen Outside.

She wondered if it was as hard for him as it had been for her, leaving home, never to return. He'd _wanted_ to escape the vault, but she didn't know if that made it any less terrifying to be alone in Murder World.

"Never again," he moaned. She patted his shoulder.

"You're okay, Butch. Come on. Tunnel Snakes rule."

"Tunnel...urgh..."

"Tunnel Snakes rule?"

"Noooo."

"Tunnel Snakes rule!"

"Tunnel Snakes--" And he threw up again.

It went on like that. She kept holding him until it was over, and he collapsed onto the bed, a quivering lump of hollowed-out misery.

She spent a couple of minutes cleaning up, then decided to lie down next to him. She could sleep in the chair, but she wouldn't get a lot of rest that way, and it seemed a little silly. It was hard to feel attracted to _or_ threatened by a guy when she'd just had a look at half the contents of his digestive system.

When she came back to the bed, he was passed out again, sprawled diagonally across the mattress like he was _trying_ to make her life more difficult. She grabbed him by the sleeve and rolled him over on his side.

" _Move_ it, you big oaf."

"Nosebleed," he mumbled.

"Asshole."

He smiled in his sleep.

"Nice."

*

Some people woke up all at once, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Others came to it slowly, with much yawning and stretching and mumbling, "Just five more minutes, I swear."

_He_ turned out to be one of the latter.

And _she_ , when his wild fist cracked into her nose, proved herself to be the former. After all the time she'd spent sleeping alone in dangerous territory, her response to being woken up like that was automatic.

She rolled over to straddle his chest, using the motion to put extra momentum behind an already mean left hook. Then she slammed her forearm into his throat. He instinctively rolled sideways to escape; correct application of pressure from her elbow compressed his carotid artery, cutting off blood flow to the brain. He would lose consciousness in about six seconds.

Fortunately, she took much less time than that to realize what she was doing and pull herself off him.

He scrambled backwards, hands at his throat, eyes wide with shock.

"What _happened_ to you?"

"Um...ghouls, mostly. Have to take them down fast. Are you okay?" He just stared at her. "I'll get you a stimpak."

She heard him start to get up, then sink back into bed while she rummaged through her bag.

"Ohhhhh, that's a hangover."

"Surprise, surprise." Ah, there it was.  Her last one. She pulled out the stimpak and brought it to him.

"Uh, thanks," he said, eyeing her warily and making no move to either take it or allow her to inject him.

"Do you want me to do it?" she asked.

"Sure." He tipped his head back to give her a vein, which was probably more trust than he should have extended to a known strangler. "Hey, did we, uh... _do_...anything last night?"

"You don't remember?" She jabbed him with the needle.

"Ow. I feel like maybe there was punching?"

"Oh. No, actually, not this time." She turned his head so she could watch the faint mark she'd left fade away before it could deepen into a bruise. The ones she'd left on the back of his neck disappeared, too. She placed her fingers over them before they became too faint to see, and made him lean his head back. "Breathe." He did. It didn't sound labored, and she knew the stimpak would prevent any swelling from coming on later. "Good. You should be fine."

"I don't _feel_ fine." He caught her frown and added, "I mean, thanks for patching me up, doc."

"That's better. I'll try not to injure you again." It was the closest she was willing to come to an apology.

"That'd be nice. I'll try not to do _that_ again."

"What?"

Butch touched one finger to the underside of her nose, and held it up to show her a drop of red. He smiled.

"Nosebleed."

She felt herself blush. God, why did _that_ make her want to...?

"You should really eat some breakfast," she said.

"Okay. This dump have room service, or should we head back to the Muddy Rudder?"

She blushed harder, and busied herself tidying up her belongings.

"I'm about to head out, actually. Gotta see a man about a G.E.C.K."

"Oh." He sounded a little disappointed, almost, but when she turned to look at him, he didn't seem to be paying attention to her. "Yeah, that's cool." He hopped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. "Lemme just take a leak, and I'll get out of your hair, all right?"

"Yeah, sure."

He shut the door behind him. She could still hear the sounds he made in there, some splashing at the sink, a cheerful, "Hey! Toothpaste!"

She put the jacket back on over her vault suit, popping the collar up without even thinking about it. She inhaled deeply, like she did every time. It had started out as a comfort thing; she wasn't really sure why she still did it. The jacket smelled like Outside, now. Over the months, it had lost the traces of his contraband aftershave and of antiseptic vault-issue soap.

He walked out of the bathroom, swirling his toothpaste-covered finger over his teeth, while she still had her nose pressed against leather. He smirked a little, but didn't comment on it.

"Hey, you mind if I use your toothpaste?"

"You know you're supposed to ask _before_ you take it," she said, hastily smoothing down her jacket in a totally pointless attempt to act casual. He smiled around his finger.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Here, I'll give it back." He made as if to spit on her. She took a quick step back.

"Butch!"

This time he was the one who turned red.  He remembered a little more than "maybe punching," then.

"Just a joke." He vanished into the bathroom again, and she heard him rinse and spit.

When he came back out, she was perfectly composed, and so was he, smiling, hair freshly combed. He took such care with it, but now she would always remember the way it looked all tousled from sleep.

She sat on the bed, pulling on her boots. He glanced at the supplies she'd left scattered across the table.

"You sure nothin' happened last night?" he asked.

"I think I'd remember. Why?" He nodded at the condoms on the table, and she winced a little. "You know what those are?"

"I can _read_."

"Really? I thought you just looked at the pictures." She watched his mouth twist into a pout, and couldn't help pushing him again. "Anyway, these weren't for you." She tucked the package back into her bag. "I must have left them out earlier."

He folded his arms across his chest, which was probably supposed to be intimidating, but came across as kind of petulant.

"How many guys have you had up here?"

"I don't know, something like seven or eight? Are we counting guys only, or girls, too?" Of course, they'd all been patients. Every time she showed up in a new town and people found out she'd been trained as a doctor, they would start seeking her out to treat the embarrassing things they didn't want their neighbors to know about. It was a decent way to supplement her caps, and it made her feel like she was balancing the scales a little.

"Jeez, Nosebleed, leave some for the rest of us."

She found her lips spreading into a surprised grin. "Butch DeLoria threatened by competition from little old me?"

"I ain't threatened."

"You shouldn't be. Not by that, anyway." She shrugged and continued packing. "I can't imagine there's much overlap between the people I've had up here and the ones you'd be interested in."

The pout became a scowl, and she realized too late she might have touched a raw nerve.

"What's that supposed to mean? Think I'm not good enough for your sloppy seconds?"

She paused in packing up and hung her head with a sigh. Well, they'd managed to maintain civility for...what, twelve, fourteen hours? In visual range of each other? That had to be some kind of record. They were bound to scrape up against each other's sore spots eventually. They both had plenty to bump into, after all.

"I didn't say that."

"Didn't have to." He snorted, then shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted one shoulder. "Don't think it hurts my feelin's or nothin'."

"Oh, Butch, I would never accuse you of having feelings." She regretted saying that as soon as it was out. "I didn't mean that." She reached out to touch him. He shrugged her away.

"Get off. I don't need you."

"I didn't--"

"You think you're so high-and-mighty, with your fancy words, always trying to confuse me."

"I didn't even _say_ \--"

"You're not better than me!"

She stomped her foot hard enough to rattle the caps on the table.

"Yes, I _am_!" He flinched. She shoved him with both hands. "You're _mean_!" She shoved him again. "You're mean, and you're a coward, and a bully, and it's _not_ cute, you're not some tortured Byronic hero, you're just a _jerk_!"

He put his hands out to fend off another shove.

"Please stop yelling?"

" _No_!" She knocked him back into the doorway to the bathroom, and he had to grab onto her to keep his balance. She shook him off.

"You're not a moronic hero, either," he said, and she had to clamp her lips shut over a half-hysterical giggle. His nostrils flared. "Don't _laugh_ at me!"

"But you make it so easy."

"Oh, screw this noise." He pushed past her. "I'm heading back to the bar."

"What?!" She grabbed him by the arm and swung him back around. He nearly stumbled into her, looking green around the gills.

"Ohhh, why'd you do that for?"

"You're going back to the _bar_? Look at you! So hung over you can't even fight me, and you want to drink _more_?"

"What's it to you? And I could kick your ass any time." He moved toward her with a halfheartedly raised fist. She knocked it down with far more force than she needed.

"I did not stay up _all night_ taking care of you just so you could go out and undo all my work the next day!"

Some of the fierceness went out of his expression, leaving him more sullen than angry.

"I didn't ask for your help," he muttered. "What I do's none of your business."

"Fine!" She stripped off her jacket and threw it in his stupid face. "You can go drink yourself to death for all I care!"

Butch touched his fingers to the snake emblem, looking really _hurt_ for the first time since they'd started fighting.

"You're quittin' the gang?"

"There _is_ no gang! One guy in a jacket is _not a gang_!"

"Oh--oh, yeah?" He threw her jacket on the floor, and yanked his own zipper down. "Well, that's just fine!" He shrugged his shoulders out of his jacket and yanked his arms halfway out of the sleeves. "The Snakes don't need you, anyway!" His shoulders jerked, but his arms stayed where they were. "We're gonna be the biggest--baddest--" He frowned.

"Are you stuck?"

"Shut up!" He strained against the leather. "I'm gonna have the toughest gang the wasteland's ever seen--damn it--"

"Oh, let me," she snapped. It was too pathetic to watch. She wasn't sure what he was trying to prove by taking his jacket off, anyway, except maybe that he could throw as big a tantrum as she could.

She moved around behind him and reached for his wrists. If she could get to his Pip-Boy, it would be easy enough to slide the jacket over the vault suit's bunched-up sleeves from her end, if he would just stop snatching his arms out of her grasp.

"Quit it! I don't need your help!"

"Really, Butch?" She grabbed the jacket and gave it a sharp twist, pulling his arms up tight behind his back, and kicked his feet out from under him. With a yelp of surprise, he fell forward onto the bed. She hooked her legs around his to restrict his movement there, held his arms trapped with her right hand, and with her left, grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the pillow.

"Hmph! Mmm-mrmph!!" He squirmed underneath her, trying and failing to find enough leverage to get free. In terms of pure strength, he had some advantage, but at this angle, and with everything she'd learned, she had physics on her side.

"I'm sorry, Butch," she taunted, "did you _need_ something?"

" _Hmph_!" He sounded angry, but there was some panic in there too, so she tightened her fist around his hair and yanked his head back to make sure he could breathe.

"What was that, Butch?"

"Get off!"

"Hmm, no, I don't think so. You don't need anybody's help, right? So you're just going to have to get yourself out of this."

"I--F-fine, no problem." He tried to throw her off by rocking back and forth, but she hadn't left him enough range of motion to make it effective. She gripped his hair a little harder to keep her balance, and watched his ears turn scarlet while she rode it out.

"Give up yet? I'll let you go if you ask me nicely," she offered.

"No!"

He twisted sideways, and she let him go so that he flopped with some surprise onto his back, pinning his own hands underneath him. Almost delicately, she sat on his stomach, and pressed his shoulders down with both hands before he could think to sit up.

"Did you have a plan, Butch?"

"I always got a plan!" He tried to come up fighting, but she shoved him back down.

"A _good_ plan?" Her fingertips danced along the curve of his collar bone, tapping in a pattern of impatience.

"Good enough!" He bucked under her like a wild Brahmin, jostling her enough that she slipped a little lower from where she straddled him. Two things happened, then, right on top of each other: she became aware of an insistent bulge pressing up against her ass, and in her surprise, Butch wrestled his way into a half seated position, close enough to clamp his teeth into the side of her neck. She yelped and dug her fingers into his hair, twisting to get a good grip so she could pull him loose. That would have been enough to make him let go back in the day-- _don't touch the 'do_ \--but not now. Either he'd gotten less vain or more stubborn.

He grunted when she tugged hard enough to take out a strand or two, but didn't let go. If anything, his teeth sank in _harder_. Pain and gravity got the better of her. His back hit the mattress, and she fell right on top of him; if she hadn't, he'd have ripped a bite out of her. Had someone walked in on them, they'd have seen what looked like a passionate embrace: her hand tangled in his hair against the bed, his mouth at her neck, her body straddling and grinding into his pelvis as she squirmed.

"Let go!" she gasped, still pulling his hair. He made a triumphant noise against her neck that couldn't have been anything but a smug refusal and she winced at a trickle of something from where his mouth was latched. Either her blood or his spit, she couldn't tell. He might take a chunk out of her yet. " _Ow_!"

With her free hand, she beat on his chest, but he still wouldn't budge. In desperation, she rolled her hips, rocking them back into that telltale bulge. It wasn't fair to play on that very human weakness, but she didn't care. As she'd hoped, he groaned from the friction, and the pressure of his teeth eased for a moment, but not enough to release completely. She did it again, harder this time, hard enough to send a thick beat of arousal through her as well as him, and he answered with a low growl. The bite became suction; if he hadn't already bruised her with those pearly whites, it could have been enjoyable. As it was, it just _hurt_.

Panting, she wrenched herself free with a _pop!_ and came down on his shoulders with her fists. _Hard_.

"Bad plan, Butch."

"Yeah?" His eyes were unfocused, but he found the energy to be defiant. "You didn't seem to mind it."

Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Could a blush feel accusing? This one did. "You bit me!"

"Just who was--" he rolled his hips under her and an answering jolt went right up her traitorous spine, "--humpin' who here?" Butch's voice went high pitched, a ridiculous parody that wasn't even close to the reality of her own: "'Oh! Butch! Don't stop! You _animal_!'"

"I didn't say any of that!"

Once more, he moved beneath her, more forcefully than the last time. She gasped at the fleeting contact, but cut the sound off by clamping her lips together. "'You were sure thinkin' it loud."

"Oh, you're a mind reader now?" She didn't think she could blush any harder, but she hardly had control over her capillaries, now did she? No point dwelling on it more than necessary.

"Or," he said, trying to casually shrug with his arms bound, "maybe it was the moanin' that tipped me off."

"I was not moaning." Yet, doubt niggled in the back of her mind as she sifted through the last few minutes. He bit her. She--and there was no way around it, no better, more dignified way to put it--humped him. He groaned against her neck. Then she did it again, and...well. She hadn't exactly hated it.

"Better get your hearin' checked, Nosebleed." She weighed the option of slapping the smug expression off his face against the odds that he'd enjoy it--or worse--that _she_ would. "I heard _two_ voices, and one of 'em wasn't mine."

Her face went hot all the way to her hairline.

"I might have...made some kind of--of sound."

He grinned up at her, the flirtiest she'd ever seen, flashed his eyebrows, pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. His hair, mussed from her fingers, had fallen into one eye and she gulped, wondering when her throat had gotten so dry. "Want me to make you do it again?"

Oh, god, she thought with sudden hysterical embarrassment, she didn't have any face left, it must have melted off. She'd have to scoop it back together again and stick it on with Wonderglue. The mental image wasn't remotely scientific, but it _felt_ true.

"You're pretty cocky--" his eyebrows rose and fell again, and the rest of the sentence arrived on the wings of a glare "--for somebody in your position."

"This _position_ ain't so bad from where I'm sitting." He rolled up against her again, but this time she had the presence of mind to raise herself up on her knees, so he hit nothing but empty air. "Hey!" He tried to move with her, or maybe to get out from under her, but she held his shoulders down.

"Really? You like this position?" He tensed underneath her, and before he could try to buck her off again, she shifted around to trap his thighs under her knees.

"Ow--"

"What's the plan now, Butch?" Even as she taunted him, she shifted her weight to take some of the pressure off him. She didn't want to _really_ hurt him, just get back at him a little for being such a...Butch.

"I'll think of somethin'...always do. And you'll be _beggin_ ' for the Butch-Man by the time I get loose."

"Really, 'cause from where I'm sitting, I might have made a little noise..." She moaned again, and smirked when he had to bite his lip and look away. "But you're the one--" She was still blushing, but she made herself say it. "--trying to put a hole in his pants. If anyone will be doing any begging..."

It was a calculated risk to slide down his body--without her hands holding him down, he could easily sit up--but she pressed her chest up against him, against the solid warmth of him, letting her fingers splay on his shoulders, and arched her back until her ass was in the air. Then she slipped down the length of his body, never breaking contact, hands trailing from his shoulders to his chest, until she was straddling his knees with her breasts brushing against his erection through the layers of their clothes.

Through this, he watched intently, eyes wide as dinner plates. She watched as they traced the curve of her ass when she arched her back, watched as they fell to the swell of her breasts beneath her vault suit, then went to her mouth. If she had to venture a guess, sitting up didn't even _occur_ to him. If he had a single thought in his head that wasn't _sexsexsex_ on a loop, she'd have been mightily surprised.

She dragged her hands down to his hips, over the planes of his abdomen, curling her fingers so that she was clawing him through the vault suit on the way down. It had taken all her nerve to get down here, so she played it coy, looking away from him to gather a little more courage.

She hadn't been a virgin for...well, quite awhile, like _months_ even, but this was Butch.   _Butch_ , who'd known her as a kid, and probably logged every embarrassing event that had ever happened to her in the vault. Butch, whose stupid leather jacket had been a major milestone in her teenage sexual awakening. And yeah, Butch who'd bullied her for too many years to count. There was a different sort of intimacy, a different sort of _vulnerability_ , in this than just sex.  There was a new kind of power in this, too, having him at her mercy like this, making him speechless, too absorbed in her to have any fight in him. She would have been lying if she'd said it wasn't doing things for her.

When she could stand to look at his face again, she did, biting her lip and moving to pull the zipper of her vault suit. She only revealed an inch of skin, not even far enough to show any cleavage, but she saw his eyes follow it down and stick to where it stopped a little below her collar bone. Like he wanted to will it down further.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to stare?"

"Who's starin'?" In spite of his belligerent tone, he didn't bother to avert his eyes. She had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't _able_ to. "What...uh, what are you doin' down there?"

"Absolutely nothing." A deep breath later, her breasts strained against the tent in his trousers, pressing into the underside. If her suit had been unzipped, she'd have been all but cradling his cock, a mental image she got the feeling was playing in his head already. He looked like he might faint from the mere _idea_. Feeling more brazen than ever, she rested her face in her palm and looked at him innocently.

"You're just going to...?" He swallowed as she reached for the zipper at her neck with her free hand and pulled it down another millimeter or two. She let her fingernail skim along the column of her throat, dipping down into her suit and watched his eyes follow the movement. "You're trying to torture me."

"Torture you?" The zipper came down another inch, and her finger traced the curve that it showed off. Still no real cleavage, but the promise of it was there. "I'm just trying to get comfortable."

"Naked's comfortable," he said helpfully.

"Is that what you want?" Butch didn't answer. "If it isn't--" she began to pull the zipper back up.

"It is!" He looked away, cheeks turning pink. "I mean, uh--if you want. You want to, right?"  That last part was mumbled almost under his breath, but she could see him trying to see her reaction without _looking_ like he was looking.

She smirked, working her way back up his body to sit up and straddle him again. This time she didn't leave any space between them, the only barrier was their suits.

"I could be convinced." Her fingertips grazed the line of his suit's zipper where their bodies met, then up, up, up to where it fell open at the center of his chest. "If you're not too stubborn to ask nicely."

He swallowed hard, like he wasn't quite sure, himself.  He was a  _very_ stubborn boy.

"Say 'please'," she said.

He shook his head.

"No."

She toyed with the silver bar, flipping it back and forth idly between her thumb and forefinger. Beneath her hands she could feel his heart hammering away, as sweat started to soak through his undershirt.

"Say please, Butch."

"Please?" he whispered. She pulled the zipper down, the movement achingly slow.

"Say, 'I'm sorry for being such a jerk.'"

"I'm s-sorry..." He bucked his hips underneath her, trying to speed her up. She let go of the zipper and leaned forward until her face hovered just inches from his.

"'I'm sorry. For being. Such a jerk.'"

"Apology accepted," he said with a little grin.

"Shut up, Butch."

"Make me."

She trailed her lips over his, but didn't give him the satisfaction of a proper kiss.

"Say it."

"Come on, Nosebleed."  He tried to capture her mouth, but she pulled away just enough that he couldn't reach her, rocking back against that hard bulge in his suit until his breathing went ragged again.

"Say it, Butch."

"I'm sorry for acting like a jerk!" He tried to thrust up against her. She found just the right spot to press in with her knees, and held him still. "Oh, come on! I'm sorry for pickin' on you when we were kids. I'm sorry you had to stay up all night for no good reason. I'm sorry you saw me shitfaced.  What do you _want_?"

"Say, 'I'm going to take care of myself.'"

"What? Okay, fine, I'll take care of myself."

"Say--"

" _Nose_ bleed!"

"I love the way you say that when you're ticked off."

She rolled back, dragging him up by his shoulders so they were both sitting up, her in his lap with her legs around his waist. She reached behind him and, finally, un-twisted the jacket from around his wrists and tossed it aside.

He didn't waste time. Once his hands were free, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close against him. His hands slid up her spine to settle a little below her shoulder blades, pressing her so tight to him that she felt light headed from the heat of his body. She thought he would kiss her then, but instead he buried his nose in her neck to breathe her in, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along her throat.

She gulped loud enough for him to hear it, and she felt him smirk against her skin. It sent an electric jolt down her spine, all the way to her tailbone, so intense it bordered on painful. The fingertips of one of his hands traced nonsense patterns over her back, her shoulders, then up and over to her collarbone. At last, they found their way up the side of her neck where he'd bitten her, gently soothing over the still fading teeth marks and making her gasp. His mouth joined his fingers, moving softly over the injury, leaving a trail of kisses. An unspoken apology.

Butch dragged his hand through her hair, turning her face down toward him so their lips could meet, and her arms went around his neck as she sighed. He kissed her so soundly, so eagerly, that she barely registered his fingers going for the zipper of her jumpsuit and tugging it down. Only when cold air met her skin did she realize he'd eased it from her shoulders. She shivered in his hands, partly from the chill, partly from what he was doing.

The warm hand still on her back slipped down to her waist, then left her completely. She felt him groping around on the bed with it while they kissed, as her fingers found his zipper and started pulling it down. He stopped fumbling, and the hand in her hair disappeared too. She made an unhappy sound as he pulled away, until a familiar heaviness settled on her shoulders. His jacket.

"Y'look good like that," he murmured against her neck, pulling the jacket around her, surrounding her in the comforting scent of aged leather and cologne, and slipping his hand beneath it, pulling her undershirt up to cup one of her breasts.

Her breathing became heavy as Butch dipped his head, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth.  He was better at this when he was sober.

"Am I back in the gang?" she asked--gasped--begged, almost.

The world tilted when he shifted, somehow getting her on her back in the middle of the bed, still wrapped in his jacket. His tongue traced her nipple, his teeth teasing the sensitive peak, and his hands tugged her suit down over her hips.

"I could be convinced," he said after nipping her skin, dragging his mouth across her chest to the other nipple. " _If_ you ain't too stubborn to ask nicely."

*

They lay in bed next to each other, completely spent, until her Pip Boy's alarm reminded her that she was running late.

"Oh, darn it, I really have to go. I'm supposed to be on my way to search Vault 87 right now. They say it's surrounded by super mutants, deadly radiation, maybe even radroaches." She glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes. "Want to come?"

"Now? I can't move my legs!"

"Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping we could try it in a sleeping bag next time."

He sat up.

"Really?"

"I didn't mean right this _second_."  She didn't think she  _could_ , yet.

"Oh." He leaned back against the pillow. "Yeah, that's cool. I guess I can come watch your back for a while."

"My hero." She stretched, but made no move to get out of bed. Her legs felt like rubber, and she thought she might fall asleep if she let herself relax.

"Hey. Hey, Nosebleed." He poked her. "Say it."

"Butch!"

"C'mon, say it."

She giggled.

"Okay, okay. Tunnel Snakes rule."


End file.
